


skin on skin

by Emeka



Category: Epica Stella | Vanguard Bandits
Genre: Captivity, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Isolation, M/M, Masturbation, Physical Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, beginnings of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 23:30:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17334425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: People yearn for contact, even in the worst of circumstances.





	skin on skin

The door closes with a click, the lock turns, and Duyere once again finds himself all alone.

It's a good thing. A bad thing. 

In what felt both like no time at all, and eternity, Zulwarn's influence on his mind left--intentionally, he's sure. What amusement is there in keeping an unaware pet? That's exactly the sort of thing Faulkner would think.

He sighs, grips the headboard until his fingers ache, and sits up to take stock of this time.

A few new bruises have been added to his collection. Handprints on his wrists and thighs, overlapping old marks. Semen beneath his butt, between the cheeks.

He hadn't even _done_ anything to earn the bruises. He knows better than to resist by now. But that's just Faulkner again, all over--not because he has to, but because he wants to.

The most troubling thing left behind, however, is this uneasiness in his body. The undecided stiffness between his legs. This feeling shames him, this sight shames him, for how can this happen after being used by the man who killed his father, Matisse, the Empire?

Perhaps Zulwarn's influence lingers on him more than he thought. Or perhaps it's a result of the environment he's been trapped in. He has seen no one else since his imprisonment, and given not so much as a book to distract himself with. Faulkner's hands on him, his fists, his cold voice, and the rape are all the stimulation he has. Sick as it is.

To a neglected body, heat is heat, regardless of the source... if Duyere thinks of the situation like that, it's more bearable. Being hit is still touch. Being mocked is still hearing someone else's voice. And sex is the most intimate of connections, even as a rape.

So it's really no wonder why his body reacts like this, or why deep down, in the midst of hating himself, he misses Faulkner when he leaves.

Heat is still heat.

For the first time in his captivity, he touches himself. It feels good yet disgusting. Somehow he gets harder. He can feel his member filling out in his palm. Warming up.

He leans against the headboard and looks up at the ceiling, eyes closed tight. It's not like he hasn't done this before, in more relaxed circumstances. Get it over with.

The pace picks up once he starts to pre-come. Skin on skin glides smoothly, and sounds loud and wet, bringing back memories of his younger years. There had been something satisfying in such a loud notice of arousal, and he'd never really needed to worry about being interrupted in his own suite. 

Orgasm hits him like a punch in the gut, with the force of all the tension he's accumulated. Sunbursts go off behind his eyelids. All he can move is his hand; everything else stiffens and pauses. His ribs ache over his starved lungs.

Then with a hard exhale everything is released. He relaxes back, chest heaving, shoulder blades spreading. Now there's semen on top of him too, on his belly and hands, in his wiry pubic hair.

He sucks off whatever he can and rubs the rest into his flesh. Whatever he needs to do, no reason for Faulkner to know of it, even though a cowering unthinking part of his brain believes he somehow will. Not like magic, but like

(a god)

his father had always known when he misbehaved. 

Instinct.

He turns and curls up on himself, noting the fatigue of his body, the sweat, like he had just finished sparring instead of masturbating. Another thing he's missed. Stretches work out the daily kinks, but it's not the same.

All he can do now is wait. For his next meal, if Faulkner decides to give it. A one-sided conversation. The verbal parading of his father's corpse, of his sister, his grandmother. The next brutality of his body. 

Duyere fears it, but there is anticipation. Heat is heat.


End file.
